


Finding the Right Way to Say “Get the Hell Off My Lawn”

by DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, notbug (KageKashu)



Series: Reconciliation-verse (or: Madara is kinda Crazy. Everyone's learning to live with it.) [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Bad Coping Skills, M/M, Madara’s paranoia deserves a character tag, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Panic Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sort Of, does that count when it’s the enemy?, implied alcoholism, minor emotional meltdown, sex shouldn’t be used as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-08 11:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15929786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire/pseuds/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: While Tobirama is off taking care of one of Madara’s demons, Madara stays home to deal with the literal demon that’s been preying on his mind.





	1. In Which Madara Gains a New Reason to Hate Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> The title’s a bit dumb, but I liked it. x’D Be prepared for a rough some odd chapters. As usual, updates Sat mornings, but since I only have up to the fourth chapter (mostly) written, it may end up slowing down. On that note! I expect this one to be about ~~eight~~ five chapters. Also, expect more warnings and the like to show up as needed.
> 
>  _Edit_ : Number of chapters has been changed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara endures a meeting about the demon in his house, until worse news arrives.

Hikaku found Madara on the street in front of his house, just after he had gone in to fetch a few things he couldn’t live without. And a few things that he could live without, but made life easier, all stored away into a scroll that had been set aside specifically for this purpose. Well, maybe not _this_ purpose. More like, if he knew he wasn’t going to be able to be home for a while, and wanted to be comfortable and hygienic on the road. 

He and Hikaku stared at each other - Hikaku eyeing the gunbai on Madara’s back warily, as well as making note of the rabbit that was _not_ in her satchel, but in Madara’s arms, chewing on something dark green and leafy without even moving her head. Madara broke first, not being particularly invested in silence. “Were you looking for me?” 

A wary nod, and Hikaku fell in step with him as he decided to continue on his way. “An emergency meeting,” Hikaku said, glancing sideways to continue eyeing the gunbai. “Is there a reason you’re carrying that? A mission, perhaps?” 

Madara adjusted Killer Jade, who, upon dropping her greens, nuzzled his arm to look for more. “No mission. I just want it...” He tried to think of a way to say “out of his house” without actually saying that. There’s no telling how long the demon’s ears were. He settled on, “Nearby.” He was putting serious consideration into Kukaku’s idea for a storage seal on the back of his neck. It would be much less obvious. “Emergency meeting?” 

Hikaku shrugged. “Hokage-sama didn’t say why, but he seemed concerned. It didn’t look like it will be a large meeting. The only ones there were his wife, as Head of Security, I imagine, his... sister, and Yamanaka Sora. I don’t know what Kukaku is there for, but given Sora's specialties and your... recent indisposition, _he’s_ probably there for you.” 

“Diplomatic of you,” Madara replied, rolling his eyes. Indisposition, indeed. His feet turn toward the administrative building anyway. There’s only one reason he can think of that Kukaku would be in on a meeting like that, and they were currently walking away from it. He lifted Killer Jade to press his face into her fur, and tried to ignore the ticklish feeling of her nose wiggling against his ear. Gouawae’s squeak and greeting was more difficult to ignore, but he managed. 

They walked in pregnant silence for several minutes before Hikaku sighed loudly, and, not actually looking at Madara, said, “But you are getting better. It’s not just my imagination, is it?” 

It took longer than it really should have to form an answer. “I’m not the one to ask,” he admitted, cringing. “The best you can hope for is that I’m _trying_.” 

“So other than screaming bloody murder last night and streaking out of the compound...” Hikaku coughed. “I was actually wondering what that was about, too.” 

“If this meeting is about what I think, you’ll be staying for it, and you’ll find out.” Then the administrative building was in sight, and Madara’s feet began to drag. He knew it wasn’t a confrontation. It might be an intervention, but it wasn’t because he did something _wrong_. Somehow, that thought wasn’t comforting. 

“Fair enough,” Hikaku agreed. “One more question, while you’re not in a bristly mitsu-anaguma mood. Why _Tobirama_?” 

His feet dragged to a stop. Madara wasn’t certain if Hikaku _knew_ , but their long association, and the fact that Hikaku had been a friend for most of his life, meant that Hikaku was one of the few people Madara felt deserved an explanation. “Couldn’t you have picked an easier question?” 

“Sorry,” Hikaku said, shrugging. “That’s the one that’s been worrying me ever since I found out.” 

Madara snuggled Killer Jade to his chest, head tipped back to grimace at the sky. “Do you know what it’s like to have everyone flinch from you? Tobirama never did that. Not even now, when he damned well should. He doesn’t pat me on the shoulder, and tell me everything is going to get better. He... listens when I have to say things, even things that are hard to say. I... I haven’t had that. Not since Kaachan left.” 

Hikaku made a soft noise of understanding, then tilted his head at Madara. “I was actually meaning, ‘How did that start?’” 

Madara choked on air. “You are _not_ getting that story!” He began moving again, this time at faster pace. “If you must know, he’s _ridiculously pretty_ , and I would have to be _blind_ not to be able to see that.” 

“I’m not arguing the aesthetics,” Hikaku protested. “I’m talking about everything else!” 

“I know,” Madara grumbled. He could admit that there was so much wrong with his choice, politics and personal history aside. And although he knew the point Hikaku was getting at, he deliberately played obtuse. “He doesn’t even take proper care of himself. On the surface, it looks like he does, but if he doesn’t have someone looking over his shoulder, he’s going to end up back in the hospital. I _know_ he doesn’t take proper breaks.” 

Hikaku coughed, muffling a laugh, as Madara made a brief stop in his office. Even he knew better than to bring a large, noticeable weapon like a gunbai to a meeting in Hashirama’s office. He didn’t particularly want to be carrying all of his effects with him either, given that Hashirama could and would pickpocket them off of him. Killer Jade and Gouawae, sure, but not scrolls full of toiletries. “I see,” Hikaku said. “Basically, it’s because he’s like a cat.” 

“What is your thing against the cats?” Somehow, that led to them bickering about the clan ninneko, just like old times. The whole thing made Madara feel like maybe he wasn’t so alienated from his clan after all. The Uchiha ninkemono was a longstanding topic of petty argument between them. Madara knew that Hikaku liked them more than he let on, so he used to tease Hikaku mercilessly about the fact that the cats _really_ liked him. 

When they finally made their way to Hashirama’s office, Hikaku subtly pushing for Madara to move faster, Madara hid a flinch at the politely contained rage on Mito’s face. Hashirama had a look of concern that was offset by the way he kept glancing apprehensively between Mito and Kukaku - who didn’t even have the grace to look abashed when Madara sent a halfhearted glare her way. She just grinned and waved. Sora, on the other hand, looked like he got dragged to a party where they only served foods that gave him indigestion. 

It kinda looked like an intervention, if one were to ignore Mito’s obvious anger, and given the longsuffering look Hikaku gave him, Hikaku felt the same. Madara hunched down, hiding his face in his collar, and focused on petting his rabbit. If he was going to be called in here like some unruly child before their clan head, he _was not_ going to justify the action by throwing fuel on whatever fire they were planning to roast him with. 

“Madara,” Hashirama started, with a hangdog look that Madara was doing his best to ignore in favor of Killer Jade’s soft ears. “You know I’m your friend, right? You can talk to me about things! I won’t be weird or mean about it!” 

“What?” Madara blinked, distracted away from Killer Jade’s nibbling on his fingers. Looking between the others, he only saw expectation - and Mito’s “I’m too polite to stab you like I want to” face. “Does anyone care to enlighten me as to what the fuck Hashirama’s talking about?” 

“I would love to,” said Mito, with a toothy edge to her smile, and Madara made a face at her. 

“Someone who doesn’t look like they want to eviscerate me?” Madara asked plaintively, because Mito scared him on the best of days. She looked disappointed, but he could live with that. Especially given that he’s still supposed to do _tea lessons_ with her. He can always hope that that gets forgotten, though. 

Kukaku coughed into her real hand before anyone could get worked up again. “What the idiot means to say, is that you should have told someone about what’s going on.” 

“Ehrm,” Madara hedged. He knew what the meeting was going to be about going in, so he kicked himself and pointed out, “Paranoid.” And shrugged, because what else could he do? Besides be damned grateful for Killer Jade, and Gouawae’s supporting presence, one paw hanging onto his ear, where no one could see. He cuddled the rabbit close and she nibbled at the edge of his sleeve. “Besides, I thought I was just crazy, until Gouawae confirmed what I was hearing.” 

“Madara,” Mito said, tone sweet as she leaned toward him - thankfully, she was seated, as was everyone else, though Madara took a bit of time to seat himself, so she couldn’t lean far. “What do I do for the village?” 

It took Madara a moment to remember. Something about security, and an incident over a year ago which made everyone bow out of her way and leave her in charge of... “Head of Village Security?” 

“Which means, I need to know when one of the clan heads is purportedly being... hounded by a demon, correct?” 

Madara burst out of his chair, outraged. “What the fuck is this ‘purportedly’?! I have proof!” And thrust Gouawae in the witch’s direction, with his free hand. 

The tiny fox dangled between his fingers, but dutifully piped up, “Madara-sama’s house is possessed by an akuma!” 

Sora made an intrigued sound. “So there _is_ a pipe fox. Why didn’t you mention this to me?” 

“Because it’s a mental health crutch,” Madara snarked back, flopping back into his seat - and immediately regretting it, because the chair was rigid and unforgivingly wooden. “And I didn’t _think_ to mention my _summons_.” 

“Gouawae is clever and sneaky,” Gouawae started saying, and Madara shoved the fox back into his collar with an exasperated sound. Its voice immediately dropped to a whisper that no one but Madara could hear. “And Gouawae knows, being in Madara-sama’s collar means it’s time to be quiet and sneaky. Gouawae is entering stealth mode.” 

Madara felt like he needed to remind Gouawae that it _isn’t_ a ninja fox. Literally, it’s a divination _tool_ , and _not_ a ninja. He’s met ninja foxes - they’re usually a variety of tenko, as nogitsune tend to be unwilling to serve others. Madara can admit that Gouawae is good at remaining unseen, but... what a ridiculous creature. 

He wished he could say that the ensuing silence was a surprise. It was broken by Hashirama coughing. “ _Anyway_ ,” said the idiot. “I’m not sure a pipe fox - no matter how cute it is - is _proof_.” 

“They can’t lie.” Madara scowled. The effect was ruined by the fact that most of his face was hidden by Killer Jade’s soft gray fur. “And while you can’t call them _wise_ , they’re certainly more educated than a lout like you.” 

“H-hey! There’s no reason to be mean.” Hashirama pouted at him. That effect is also ruined, with Madara’s hair in his face, and the rabbit’s fur taking up a good share of his vision. 

“Oi, Idiot-sama!” Kukaku barked, crossing her arms and kicking Hashirama’s desk. “Back to the matter at hand! That being that I’ve already contacted an oshō to come and check this shit out. He’s a well practiced onmyōji, and he should be here in a couple days, given who I sent to get him. Little fucker’s fast, even if he isn’t as fast as Tobira. Good thing, too, because that’s all he’s got going for him.” 

Hashirama seemed to give up on pouting that they were being mean, and settled on sighing. “Thank you, Kukaku, for sending our _most useless_ shinobi out on a job.” 

“Keigo will get it done,” she smirked. “He thinks he’ll be eaten if he doesn’t get there fast enough.” 

“So you sent him out thinking that something was after _him_ ,” Hashirama said flatly, and sighed again. “Kukaku, this is... not the point of this meeting. We’ll talk about this later. You can’t just use the excuse that Tobirama’s not here to just...” He was interrupted by Kukaku coughing, and trailed off into a grumble. “So! In four to six days, we should have a priest - or at least a travelling monk! Why don’t we already have a priest? I don’t know! It hasn’t come up, has it, my lovely wife?!” 

If Madara were more of a man, he would definitely say something about this. Something like, oh, isn’t having a priest around technically a village security matter? Why complain about one of the clan heads having a demon if we don’t have the means to deal with it at hand? He might even have said it, if it were anyone but Mito. The way she was eyeing him seemed to indicate that she was reading his mind anyway. 

Forever cementing himself as a pint-sized badass in Madara’s eyes, Sora looked Mito right in the eye, and with full sarcasm, said, “Shouldn’t we have had that taken care of after the jorōgumo? You know, the whole reason everyone agreed that you should be head of village security to begin with? You may get on Madara’s case for not going to _you_ , but this is the kind of thing you take to a priest!” 

Even as he wondered, _What jorōgumo? I don’t remember anything about a jorōgumo!_ Madara was honestly surprised to hear anything in his defence. Whatever Mito was about to say in response - utterly scathing, from the look on her face - was cut off by a knock on the door. 

Everyone went silent, and watched as the door opened to reveal... Yasutora. Madara could feel the stress levels of the room skyrocket. Hashirama looked the most pained, and it was obvious why. Yasutora was the one who handled the delegation of all the high rank missions, and between that and his... speech impediment, his appearing unscheduled was worrisome at best. 

Then the smaller body ducked around him, and if anything, Hashirama looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “K-komaki! What are you doing here?!” 

“Oh, shit,” Mito muttered, as the small, dark haired man elbowed his way past her to plant his hands on Hashirama’s desk. “Komaki, now might not be the best time...” 

“Now’s the only time,” and now that he spoke, Madara recognizes the particular inflections as something he only hears from Tobirama and _Fuuko_ on the very few occasions he’s spoken to her while they were both coherent - all in the hospital, and he hadn’t seen her since. _This_ was one of Tobirama’s siblings, one of the ones he hadn’t met yet. 

Hikaku gave him a nudge. “I think we should leave before whatever this is happens.” And Madara would agree, but Yasutora still stood in the doorway, closing the door behind himself and shaking his head at Madara like he just read his mind. And while that wasn’t even rumored to be a Nara skill, Madara figured he’d take the big man’s wordless advice for once and stay put. 

“Whatever it is, can’t it wait until everyone’s gone?” Hashirama’s voice was a harsh whisper that did nothing to actually disguise what he was saying. 

Komaki glanced around at those currently assembled, and Madara got a good look at black eyes that were owlish enough to put the archivists to shame. Other than that... Madara wasn’t going to throw out the obvious suspicion, that he was looking at stolen Uchiha blood (unless it was a similar case to Kagami, but that’s hard to say). Komaki hesitated, for a moment, when their eyes met, but then the man whirled back around to face Hashirama and told him, “There’s no one here that shouldn’t hear this.” Then he slammed a scroll onto the desk in front of Hashirama. 

Madara had a bad feeling about this, compounded by the way Gouawae grabbed his ear. But he was stuck, alongside everyone else, watching as Hashirama opened the scroll. Quickly, he lost his aggrieved air, and read it with all due seriousness. As Madara watched Hashirama’s eyes dart across the scroll, Hashirama’s eyebrows began to pucker, and eventually, he looked back up at Komaki and asked, “What is this?” 

“That’s the information Tobirama asked me to give you after he left,” Komaki said, then pulled out another scroll. This one was placed next to the other. “I know it isn’t what he wanted, but I think the rest of the data is pertinent as well.” 

Hashirama’s eyes flickered across the assembled faces again, and he reached out to take the other scroll. But he didn’t crack it open just yet. “And this is the rest of the information?” 

“Everything it was possible for me to acquire,” Komaki confirmed, and glanced at Madara again. Something about that look set Madara’s teeth on edge. A feeling that was justified when Komaki continued, “If anyone knows anything that I haven’t been able to acquire, it’s Uchiha Madara.” 

Madara didn’t like the sound of that at all. He knows that he’s paranoid, but there’s only one thing that came to mind that he would be well informed about that could have anything to do with Tobirama and his mission. “What?” Fuck, he hopes this doesn’t have anything to do with Yoshihiko. 

“Anija went to Aoyama Province on an assassination mission,” Komaki said, face empty of emotion in a way that gave lie to his very civilian chakra signature. “The subject of which, you are the most familiar with of all of Konoha’s forces, given that you spent some time in his company. Yoshihiko of Midorisōgen has been on the Wishlist for some time, but anija has only recently become interested in pursuing his demise.” 

Halfway through the first sentence, Madara’s ears began ringing. He felt Hikaku’s concerned hand on his shoulder like something distant, through layers of cotton wool, and Gouawae was saying something, loud and insistent, but he couldn’t hear past the ringing. 

There’s soft fur in his face, but even that’s as distant as the shaking of his hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mitsu-anaguma: Honey badger. The kanji literally translate to “honey hole bear,” which is just about the cutest sounding name, for such a devilish creature. I mostly wanted this because I was looking for something that would make for a good childhood nickname for Madara.
> 
> Kaachan: The closest I’ve found to “Mom” in Japanese.
> 
> Oshō: A buddhist monk.
> 
> Onmyōji: A practitioner of onmyōdo. An earlier fic in the series had a note on the subject.
> 
> Jorōgumo: literally “woman-spider.” This is a type of youkai, or demon from Japanese folklore. It can also be written as “entangling newlywed woman.” It’s also sometimes referred to as Madara-gumo, amusingly enough.
> 
> Aoyama: literally “blue mountain.” In this case, it’s one of the southeastern provinces of Hi no Kuni, on the continental side of the gulf.
> 
> Midorisōgen: literally “green meadow.” A town in the Aoyama Province.
> 
> Edit: It was pointed out to me that I used "ninken" for the Uchiha cats, but that isn't actually correct. Those two incidences have been replaced by ninneko (lit "ninja cats") and ninkemono (lit "ninja beasts", but uh... the etymology on this one had me giggle a little).
> 
> Names! (Yay! I get to do this one again!)
> 
> Keigo: The kanji I’m using for him, ”啓悟”, basically mean “Begin Enlightenment,” because it amused me. (He’s very much a Bleach expy, though he won’t be quite like the character of the same name.


	2. In Which Tobirama Makes a Questionable Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama’s first meeting with Yoshihiko goes exactly as he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No longer multiple chapters ahead. Just the one. ❣⌒ヽ( ͡° ε ͡°)♪♪♪♪ Am I writing? Who knows? Not me.
> 
> (It's already Sat morning _somewhere_. In the US even. Just not here. x'D)

So far, the mission had been an utter bore. 

Tobirama was fairly certain that by now, Komaki had shared the information he asked him to with Hashirama. Unfortunately, there was about a fifty/fifty chance that Komaki might have decided to share _more_. Things that Hashirama, his brother, doesn’t need to know. Like what he’s dealing with. 

Tobirama would prefer if Hashirama never knew exactly how dangerous of a man this Yoshihiko was purported to be. He could only trust that Komaki did as he asked, giving Hashirama a limited amount of information. 

The secondary mission was simple enough that it could be done without much thought - dropping in on random informants and the like in the area, of which there were oddly few - which left him with plenty of time to himself to look like the bored shinobi he was. As an unfortunate side-effect of said boredom, Tobirama found himself dwelling on things he oughtn’t. Most of those thoughts centered on Madara, and while some were pleasant, others... were worries that he didn’t want on his mind in the middle of a mission. 

One of his biggest concerns was that without him there, Madara would regress to his behavior before their relationship. And while Madara has always been an excellent shinobi, his personal habits were extremely self-destructive. If nothing else, Tobirama hoped that Madara would sleep at his house rather than going back to his own if he can’t sleep there. 

Tobirama had only been gone for a handful of days, and already he could feel his own sleep schedule suffering for trying to sleep alone. Every time he shifted during the night, the silence reminded him of who wasn’t beside him. 

...He hadn’t realized he was growing so attached. Usually, it took at least a week before he missed anyone while away on a mission. Unless things went horribly wrong, but Tobirama didn’t want to jinx himself by thinking such a thing. 

Instead he found himself staring into space - waiting was always boring, especially when he had nothing to do in the meantime - mulling over the more pleasant aspects of having a lover that his brother couldn't scare off. Such as actually having a chance to learn each other at a more leisurely pace. 

And not only was he learning about Madara. Throughout their short time together, Tobirama had learned quite a few new things about himself, as well. He wouldn’t even have thought that he was the sort of person to enjoy dirty talk, but between Madara’s deep voice, and the particular way he phrases things... That’s a line of thought Tobirama shouldn’t pursue in a public place. 

Speaking of, he really ought to be paying more attention to his surroundings. There are more than a few people about, all with the undeveloped chakra of civilians, and there’s not a single suspicious eye trained on him. There are also plenty of unguarded tongues, giving him a disturbing picture of what seems like a peaceful province. 

The peace doesn’t seem to be a lie, but... It’s too absolute. Too calm, too orderly, and unfortunately, he doesn’t have enough information. Komaki gave him everything he found, but the reports coming from the area didn’t suggest anything so _strange_. Humans don’t work together in harmony like bees. And the town isn’t _quiet_. It’s full of cheerful chatter, but he can hear nothing of the usual petty grievances that normally crop up wherever there’s a gathering of people. Midorisōgen isn’t a large town, but by his experience, the smaller the village, the more vicious the wagging tongues within. 

It’s _strange_ that such an oasis of peace can exist in Hi no Kuni, when everywhere else, people expect the war to flare back up. With good reason, considering that there are still pockets of strife. Every day sees more missions to help quell them, and Tobirama expects that when he returns home, there will be a mission or two that require his specific skill set. 

Midorisōgen is an abnormality. An aberration. Whatever was causing this, it’s unnatural, and it stirred Tobirama’s curiosity. 

* * *

It took days, and the conscious effort not to stretch out his chakra, before Yoshihiko finally came to town. Tobirama was utterly baffled by the populace’s response to the man. He’s never seen such a large group of people appear to... happily panic? 

Hysteria. That might be the word he’s looking for. But as he watched them, the behavior made less and less sense. There were several people that got so excited that they fainted, just to be near him. 

Tobirama couldn’t figure out what was happening, until he reached out to sense everyone with his chakra, and felt... something warm and gentle that drew his attention and made his heart flutter in his chest in a way that he’s never experienced. It makes him watch more closely, highly suspicious of the strange feeling. 

He didn’t approach Yoshihiko right away. Simply observed from a distance. Everything he observed _matched_ that warm, alluring chakra, and again, Tobirama was baffled. The man was friendly, seemingly kind, and helpful whenever he was approached by someone having problems. Each tiny bit of strife that had appeared over the days Tobirama had observed the village was soothed away by Yoshihiko’s words. 

And somehow, this was the man that left an Uchiha - really, _The_ Uchiha, in the minds of many - missing some very important memories. He couldn’t be as nice as he seemed - no one is that nice, except maybe Tobirama’s mother. 

In the end, he didn’t have to approach Yoshihiko, because the man approached him. 

That warm aura was more compelling the closer Yoshihiko was, and as far as Tobirama could tell, he was also more than moderately attractive. Dark brown hair, loose and wavy, curled around his jaw. It wasn’t court-stylish, but it was a good look, well matched to the days old stubble and warm clean scent of him. Which made Tobirama’s hormones sit up and take notice, much to his chagrin. 

“Well, aren’t you lovely,” were the first words past the man’s lips, and ordinarily, Tobirama would have been annoyed, hearing that. Right now, for some reason, it brought a flush to his cheeks, as surely as Madara’s voice, telling him that he could never be bored watching him. Those words shouldn’t even be able to compare, but here he was, blushing. Flustered. 

“That’s not something I usually appreciate hearing,” he managed anyway. The fact that he was here for a reason... conveniently slips his mind. 

Later, he wouldn’t be able to tell how he got into a philosophical debate with the man he was meant to assassinate. He wouldn’t want to admit how enjoyable it was, though he wondered just how much of that was due to the overwhelmingly pleasant aura the man exuded. 

* * *

It took hours in Yoshihiko’s presence to figure out why he was acting this way. He’s never wanted to be close to someone like this before, but Yoshihiko’s aura was _addictive_. The fact that it took several hours for Tobirama to cotton on to the fact could probably be excused by the oddly euphoric effect the aura had. 

Though it did make him wonder about the possibility of withdrawals, and how Madara had handled that back when he had gotten away from the man. As though thinking of Madara was enough to give his tongue permission to speak, Tobirama found himself asking Yoshihiko if he remembered Madara. 

“Madara,” Yoshihiko murmured the name slowly, as though tasting it. “Uchiha Madara? It’s been ten years since I’ve seen him, but I do remember his time with me.” He said it with a smile that seemed nostalgic, which matched the feeling in his chakra. “He was a good kid. Always trying to help people...” 

“A good kid?” Tobirama had a hard time reconciling that phrase with the Madara he knew. Brash and prone to violent outbursts, and maybe, deep down, Madara meant well, but the path he took was screaming into a hurricane rather than helping people take shelter. 

“Yes. He had some interesting ideas on societal structure, though he never was good at making his point quietly.” Yoshihiko was briefly distracted by a starry-eyed young woman bearing a platter of snacks and tea. At his gentle thanks, she nearly fainted, but recovered admirably before bowing out. 

For a moment, Yoshihiko focused on the tea, pouring for both of them, and Tobirama eyed the man’s guards. One of them was a shinobi that had made quite a name for herself early in the war, only to disappear several years ago. Another was one of the former daimyo’s most trusted samurai. If those two hadn’t been on opposite sides of at least one battle, Tobirama would eat his sandals. 

“How is Madara doing these days? I’ve heard rumors that he is unwell, but... I expect Senju Tobirama would be able to tell me the truth of his mental state.” Yoshihiko took a sip of his tea, nodding for Tobirama to do the same. He would be alarmed that Yoshihiko knew his name, but Tobirama was quite aware of how unique his appearance was. As one of Konoha’s most famous, it came as no surprise that any reasonably well-informed outsider would know who he was. 

Rumors about Madara’s mental state was another matter entirely, though Tobirama only filed away the concern for later. “He’s getting better. The war was hard on him,” Tobirama admitted. “And I didn’t make things easier. It is one thing to have such schisms between enemies, but as allies?” Much less as lovers. Tobirama still didn’t know if it was recovery or a different sort of insanity that Madara managed to be close to him without wanting to kill him. 

“He’s a stubborn young man,” Yoshihiko replied, with a wan smile. “If he’s gotten even a little bit better, I’m certain he’ll bull his way through to full recovery.” While playing idly with a wagashi - something local that Tobirama was uncertain what was, but shimmered with mizuame and brightly colored hibiscus - Yoshihiko’s dark eyes, sharp with intelligence, were on Tobirama. “Most of you shinobi types leave when they notice it, unless they’re sick of fighting. But I don’t think that’s why you’re still here, is it?” 

Tobirama blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected Yoshihiko to realize, much less call him on the fact that he was there on purpose. “I was initially here because of a mission,” he admitted, carefully weighing what could be said. “The... reaction of the populace was intriguing, so I opened my senses. Curiosity always has been the vice I most often indulge.” 

“A man who studies the world around you...” Yoshihiko’s tone was admiring in a way that made Tobirama’s toes curl, though he forced his expression to remain bland. “Perhaps even a philosopher at heart? You say you’re curious? Should I show you what I can do?” Yoshihiko’s chakra moved, like a heady wave, pushing up against him. 

His whole world narrowed to those words, that mouth. That strange warmth that surrounded him. 

“Say I indulge your curiosity,” Yoshihiko was saying. “What can you give me in return?” The question makes every project Tobirama has ever worked on flash before his eyes, and it was only seconds before he found his answer. 

“Youth.” 

* * *


	3. In Which Hashirama Would Like to Be Able to Have His Own Meltdown, Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hashirama has to hold himself together. For the village, for Madara, for Tobirama, who is probably at least half the reasons he needs a drink. Mito just wants Madara to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday in Europe, right? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> (I'm actually a little further ahead in my stuff this time. Almost two chapters ahead of this one are finished, if not edited...)

Hashirama barely made it home before he _had_ to pull out the flask of shōchū he always keeps hidden in his robes. The burn of it did little to relieve the ache in his chest, but sometimes it took a few tries. 

Why did this shit always happen? He could handle demons... sort of. He never actually had to deal with one by himself before, but he suspects that between the mokuton and senjutsu, he probably has a leg up on most of them. If not, his lovely wife was more than capable. 

Knowing that it was a demon that was set on driving his best friend crazy? That... was a little harder to swallow. Madara had enough problems without some kind of akuma compounding them. 

Knowing that while they were tied up with this, Tobirama was dealing with someone who could _brainwash his targets_ even when they know better? Because as much as Hashirama wanted to run out there and try to rescue his little brother, he is capable of listening to reason. Reason being Komaki trying to shove a scroll up his nose while Madara has a disturbingly silent meltdown in the corner. 

He’s worried about Madara, he really is, but he needed a little space for his own meltdown after Madara left in a daze, still not having said a single word. 

Hashirama will never be able to shake the mental image of Gouawae staring accusingly at him over Madara’s collar as his best friend walked out. It added a surreal quality to the proceedings, knowing that he was judged lacking by a _pipe fox_ of all things. 

Eventually, the shōchū did help, leaving him loose-limbed and slightly lightheaded. When Mito arrived, she snatched the bamboo flask right out of his hand, taking a big gulp of it herself, before sitting with him. “Today has been the worst,” she groaned, leaning on him. 

He leaned right back, with a grumbled agreement. Life always felt just a little bit better with the scent of her perfume lingering in his nose. On another day, one where he came home less emotionally exhausted, he might nuzzle in for a kiss. Today, he moped, and tried not to whine into her shoulder. “Tobira’s going to get himself killed. Or worse.” 

Mito petted his hair, and slowly, he slid down her side until his head was in her lap. “Your brother has a strange sort of luck,” she told him, and he closed his eyes at the scrape of her nails just above his ear. It calmed him like nothing else could. “He’ll come home.” 

They sat together like that for a while, and Hashirama’s breathing slowed to match hers. The silk beneath his cheek was warm from her body heat, and soon it was difficult to hold his eyes open. Until a knock at the door caused him to startle fully awake, Mito’s thigh twitching under his head. Hashirama groaned piteously. “Mito...” 

She was frowning intently when he looked up, brows puckered and facing the entryway. “Who is that?” she asked, and Hashirama lifted his head to look in the same direction. While neither of them were natural sensors, they were both good enough that they should be able to recognize anyone that they knew at such a short distance. 

The chakra on the other side of the doorway was muted, and strangely cool. Empty. Hashirama found it depressing enough that he wasn’t certain he wanted to answer the door. Mito chivvied him up anyway, though she didn’t make him see to the interruption alone. He hesitated for a moment at the door before opening it. 

It was Madara. 

_Madara_. 

If the strangeness of his chakra didn’t give away that something wasn’t right, one look at his face and Hashirama couldn’t deny it. He didn’t think he had ever seen someone look both like death warmed over and... empty. “Madara?” He couldn’t ask if Madara’s okay, because it would be obvious to anyone with senses that he wasn’t. 

A tiny orange face peeked up at him over Madara’s collar, white markings making it look adorably elegant. “Tree Man,” it greeted, in a disapproving tone. 

Madara’s expression didn’t change at all. “You’re my best friend and the closest thing I have left to a brother,” he said, tone as dull and lifeless as his eyes. “Can I say with you tonight?” 

Hashirama stared for a moment, eyes wide, then blinked when Mito reached past him, a paper with some kind of seal on it in her hand. “Madara, hold this,” she said, and Madara took the paper without protest. She tipped her head in Hashirama’s direction. “I have these at hand, at least. After the _last_ demon we had in Konoha, I didn’t want the chance that one would enter the house.” 

Madara turned the ofuda over in his hands. “Do you want me to put chakra into it?” 

“No, just hold it for a moment.” 

A vague grimace tried to replace Madara’s blank expression. “Is something supposed to happen?” His shoulders slumped further, and he muttered under his breath - something about not even being able to do this right. 

Hashirama bit his lip. Usually, he had some idea of what to do, but confronted with Madara like this? Even at his worst, Madara always presented a strong front, and Hashirama was only recently learning that that was exactly what it was. A front. “Mito..?” 

All she did was shake her head. “Trust your instincts on this one,” was her cryptic response. 

Which sounded utterly ridiculous. Because Hashirama’s instincts told him to drag Madara inside and hug him for as long as Madara allowed it... 

Wait. Mito would know that. 

If someone just to be observing from outside, it would have looked like a scene from a horror story, when Hashirama’s arms flung out and dragged Madara right off his feet and into the house. 

It was concerning that Madara still didn’t protest. Just made sure that the bag at his side - containing a vaguely grumpy bunny - went unsmashed. 

* * *

Mito _knew_ that Madara was... fragile, mentally. He was taken off of mission rotation after his evaluation for a reason. But she had never seen him drop his guard - which made sense. He was afraid of her. Why, she had never ascertained, but she could tell, even if he hid it well. 

She didn’t know what was in that scroll that had her husband so frustrated and worried about Tobirama. Yet. But Madara obviously did, and just knowing about it, left him... like _this_. 

They offered him space on their bed, but he just shook his head mournfully, and set up camp in the corner of the room, under a pile of dated yukatas and what she swore was one of Tobirama’s blankets, all pulled from a storage scroll. She could make a lot of inferences from those yukatas. Most of them were small, obviously meant for children, or young teens. There was one of the Uchiha’s typical indigo robes in the pile, and a happi that was obviously meant for someone with much broader shoulders than Madara. 

With the addition of one of Tobirama’s blankets, it painted a depressing picture. Even more so, given that there were enough items that she could only see his hair and the general shape of him beneath the pile. 

She was at just as much of a loss as Hashirama, as to how this should be handled. Her husband, loveable idiot that he is, tried laying on the floor in front of Madara, asking if he could do anything to help. It even almost seemed to work, but then Madara only muttered that he wanted his mother. In that quiet voice that meant he already knew asking would be fruitless. 

Mito was just about damned ready to go out and find the woman herself, even though she knew absolutely nothing about her. Hashirama proved he felt the same by trying to coax information on how to find her out of Madara, who didn’t seem to be able to provide. Mito suspected that whoever she was, she would have a strong personality. One that could be comforting to a man like Madara... 

The mass of his hair foiled her, when she reached out to offer a soothing pat to his head. With a little more effort, she managed to dig her fingers far enough in to scratch at his scalp instead. Madara didn’t protest, but at this point, she suspected that it would be more of a surprise if he did. 

“Anata.” Hashirama looked up at her with that adorably besotted look he occasionally got, and it made her smile a little, in spite of the situation as she continued, “We aren’t leaving him to sleep on the floor. You’re going to help me move him to the bed, and then I’m going to get some sleeping powders to mix with your shōchū.” 

Manhandling Madara off the floor wasn’t as difficult as she expected, not once they made sure the blanket was wrapped tightly around him. She fished out the rabbit - which tried to bite her, but she didn’t want to see how much worse this would get if the ungrateful little beast got hurt - so that it wouldn’t be smashed. Between them, they managed to get Madara to the middle of the bed before she gave the rabbit back. 

Madara grimaced at her when she made him drink the doctored shōchū, but drank it with no further complaint. If he was still like this in the morning, she would send someone for Hikaku. 

Mito had always vaguely wondered, what it would be like to have both Hashirama and Madara in her bed. She had expected it to be more lively than this. _This_ was more like having an extremely large, mopey child laying bundled between her and her husband. He was quiet, though, and indulged her husband’s need to cuddle, so she wasn’t about to complain. 

He didn’t move all night. 

Mito was allowed her usual slow wake up, and was entirely unsurprised by the warm lump still next to her. The rabbit nibbling curiously at her hair was a different story. If she were an ounce less dignified, she would have shrieked. As it was, she shoved it back under Madara’s - Tobirama’s - blanket, then got up to moodily make tea. 

At least, that was her intention, until she saw that Hashirama had already gotten up. She glanced over at the unmoving lump that was Madara, and knew that leaving him alone like this would be unkind. Throwing on one of her husband’s yukatas over her sleeping clothes, for Madara’s comfort should he come out from under that blanket, she grabbed something to occupy herself with and sat back down next to him. 

Her husband would return eventually. 

When Hashirama came back, he had a tray with tea and breakfast, and was accompanied by a guest. Hikaku wore Madara’s habitual expression, looking mostly tired with a hint of “why me?” in his eyes. Her husband sat the tray on the bedside table next to her, while Hikaku moved to the other side of the bed to prod at Madara. 

“I’m not surprised he’s like this,” Hikaku said, fingering one of the yukatas with an expression that managed to be even more tired than before. “If anything, I’m surprised he came to you.” His shoulders slumped and the decorative chain dangling from one side chimed faintly. “Maybe if Hinayu-sama was here, something could be done, but as it is... I can only suggest to wait him out, and make sure he and his bunny are fed and hydrated in the meantime.” 

Right. The damned rabbit needed food and water. That’s probably why it was trying to eat her hair earlier. “That’s it?” she asked sharply, and Hikaku shrugged. 

“He’s in shock from an emotional upset.” Hikaku sighed, pushed his hair back with one hand. “The treatment is basically to keep him warm, make sure he drinks something - fresh tea would be good - and don’t leave him alone. Other than that..." He shook his head, visibly trying to gather his thoughts. “Hope Tobirama comes back intact, or else he’s going to start spiraling again. It’s... strange. But that man managed to drag him back to something like he once was, and I’m _grateful_ , but... Madara wouldn’t handle his loss well.” 

“And who is Hinayu?” Hashirama asked, seating himself at Madara’s feet. 

“His mother,” Hikaku replied, shrugging again. “She’s been gone for nearly five years now. The likelihood of her returning is... _abysmal_ , as much as we would like to see her again.” 

Mito met her husband’s eyes, as they both recalled Madara’s words the night before. “It couldn’t hurt to try,” Hashirama grinned. The look was slightly strained, but not in a way Hikaku was likely to notice. 

Mito smiled, preparing a cup of tea to try to force down Madara’s throat. “We could use some advice on how to locate her, and a description would be useful.” 

* * *

Three days after the utterly disastrous meeting - since when does an intervention go that badly, anyway?! - Kukaku’s messenger returned with the monk she sent him for. She heard Keigo’s obnoxiously nasal voice before she heard the jangle of Miroku’s shakujō and his softer voice murmuring back. 

Someone had gotten it into their head that she was supposed to distract Madara - she isn’t about to point fingers, but both Mito and Hashirama have her eyes on them - so she left him helping her son figure out how to make something more complicated than onigiri. She was getting so tired of onigiri. Kukaku wasn’t much of a cook, herself, having only one hand and no patience, and while she had doubts about using Madara this way, nothing was burning yet. 

She gave the air a concerned sniff, but smelled nothing beyond black powder and maybe boiled chicken and sake. The black powder was probably on her, but chicken and sake seemed a little too complicated for a man she wasn’t even sure _could_ cook. 

Putting it out of her mind with a shake of her head, Kukaku slowly got up - everything was more complicated when she wasn’t wearing her prosthetic, but she _hated_ the damned thing, no matter how comfortable others tried to make it - so that she could answer the door. A small grin came to her face at the sight of her old friend. With black hair and black eyes, Miroku looked a bit like a sun browned Uchiha. Next to him, Keigo looked like a curly mop. 

Keigo was a distant cousin, on her sister’s father’s side, which meant he wasn’t even directly related to her. But besides Tobirama, he was the fastest member of the clan. Too bad it was because he was a bit of a coward. Still, he was _loyal_ , and if push came to shove, she didn’t think he would run unless it was the only thing he _could_ do. Keigo was a man who knew his limits, and beyond his speed, that was the only exceptional thing about him. 

He gave her a half-hearted smile and waved at her as they came in, and Miroku paused to side-eye her lawn decorations - currently in the shape of two giant, manly feet that a banner proclaiming the house as _hers_ hung from. Still, upon spotting her, he smiled as well, that warm mischievous look that he had always had, the entire time she knew him. 

“Kukaku, my friend,” he greeted, even as Keigo dropped onto the porch and flopped over against a support beam. Ignoring her cousin, Kukaku reached out to take the proffered hand, with a firm grip. “Keigo here tells me that it’s urgent?” 

Kukaku sucked in a breath for a gusty sigh. “You have no idea. Come in. Has Hashirama been informed of your arrival yet?” 

They chatted for several minutes, Kukaku outlining the basics of what was going on, before she bellowed to Kagami that they were going to need tea. There was a curse from the kitchen, quieter than usual, but after several more minutes, Madara came out with several cups and a steaming pot. Wordlessly, he set it on the table and started to turn away, but Kukaku caught his sleeve. 

“Oi, sit with us. Kagami can watch whatever you two are working on for a few minutes.” Disconcertingly - as he’d been all day - Madara sat down without further prompting. When she turned back to Miroku, she caught the oshō giving Madara a wide-eyed look. “What’s your problem now?” she grouched. 

Miroku licked his lips, eyes darting side to side. “Uhm. This is the man in question?” 

Even Madara started looking curious, but Kukaku frowned. “Yes.” 

“Right.” The monk coughed lightly into a fist. “I know I say this a lot, but... This man has... a dark miasma about him.” 

“You’re getting paid a flat rate,” Kukaku reminded him, annoyed at what she was certain was an attempt to get paid more. He gave her a wounded look, and Madara turned his curious stare onto her. “You won’t weasel any more out of me.” Admittedly, she wasn’t the one paying, but it didn’t matter. Hashirama set the limit once he knew what had been promised. 

“That’s not why I’m saying this,” Miroku complained. “I’m saying it because _you implied_ that this was probably going to be... a placebo. Just seeing this, it’s less an emergency than it is _an emergency_. We’ll need to get started right away.” 

They ate dinner first. And dinner surprised Kukaku by being delicious steamed buns, stuffed with shredded chicken and thin sliced onions and mushrooms that had just a hint of sake flavoring them. Kagami seemed pleased with himself, claiming that he did most of the work while Madara clung to his bunny and told him what to do. (She internally resolved to abscond with Madara occasionally, even after Tobirama comes back, and have him teach her son some more recipes.) 

It took nearly two more hours before everyone who felt like they had a right to be there _was_ there, and then most of them - her supposedly experienced oshō included - stood around doing nothing. She wanted to grab him by the hair and throw him at the building, but something stopped her. There was a strange feeling of _wrongness_ that emanated from Madara’s house, and Miroku was staring at it with a pale face that told her that it wasn’t her imagination. 

Funny, but she was only now realizing that she had never actually visited Madara at _his_ home. It was always him, going out, trying to connect with people (badly), and Kukaku wondered just how much of that was because of this... _presence_. 

And Miroku’s voice cracked when he stated the obvious. “I’m going to need backup.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms:
> 
> Ofuda: Hemp paper tags with seals on them, that are used for household protection against spirits. (Madara is mistaking it for the kind of seal that Mito is known for, rather than the kind used by onmyōji, or sold at larger shrines.)
> 
> Happi: A traditional Japanese straight sleeved coat, usually made of indigo or brown cotton and imprinted with a distinctive mon (crest). These days, they’re usually only worn to festivals, but they used to be commonly worn by servants, employees of shops or other organizations, including firefighters, and the mon represents the house or organization they belonged to. (The mon on this particular happi is an uchiwa - the kind of fan that the Uchiha crest depicts.)
> 
> Anata: In English, we only really have one word for “you,” unless one is to dig up words that are no longer in common use. In Japanese, on the other hand, there are many forms of “you,” and it’s very important to use the right one. x’D Anata is an intimate form, often used between husband and wife.
> 
> Shakujō: A monk or pilgrim’s staff. It has a large ring on top with several smaller rings - six, specifically, has religious connotations - attached that make noise as the bearer walks. It is supposed to scare away small animals and the like so that the bearer doesn’t step on them, and warn villagers that someone is coming.
> 
>  
> 
> Names!
> 
> Hinayu: Her name basically reads as “ice summer night,” though I like to read it as "ice (on a) summer night." The kanji are “氷夏夜” (A Bleach expy, but there’s not enough context here to puzzle out who she is... or maybe there is. x’D)
> 
> Miroku: The Japanese name for Maitreya, the Buddha of the Future. The kanji are “弥勒”. The two kanji mean “unusual(ly) bit (as in a horse bit),” though it took a little digging to find that. (He’s an Inuyasha expy, as some may have guessed from the name, though like Keigo, he won’t be too much like the character he’s based off of.)


	4. In Which Zetsu Does Not Get to have Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara doesn’t know when things got this crazy. This was supposed to be serious, but then it went slapstick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first time since I started writing this series, the estimated chapter count is wrong! We only have one more after this.

Madara’s head began to clear the moment he recognized what kind of person the monk was. Miroku had the same canny look in his eyes as Madara’s mother. 

He knew a con artist when he saw one. As strange as it felt, he trusted Kukaku’s judgment. If she thought that the man could do what he professed to do, Madara was going to accept the monk as he was. Just because he was obviously a grifter, it didn’t mean he doesn’t know his stuff. 

Miroku’s dire whisper upon observing Madara’s house wasn’t exactly reassuring, but it did tell Madara that the man probably knew as much about this business as Kukaku thought. That was a professional sort of horror. Kind of like being a pest exterminator who realized that their latest project should be condemned and burned down for the sake of the rest of the neighborhood. 

Hashirama gave out a cry - it sounded vaguely like “I’m a bad friend!” - and attached himself to Madara’s side, opposite of Killer Jade. Killer Jade was proving to be especially helpful, given the amount of stress currently accumulating in his gut. He kept her out of Hashirama’s reach, and in return she nibbled on the edge of his sleeve. She never chewed on his gloves, and he could only assume that she doesn’t care for the taste of leather. 

While Hashirama slowly slid down his side crying, Madara watched the monk seal up the building with ofuda - recognizing in retrospect what he had been handed the night he visited his annoying friend. Just as much as he worked to ignore Hashirama’s emotional... whatever, he also fought to keep a blank face while Gouawae turned circles in his collar, doing gods only know what. It tickled terribly. 

Just another distraction from... From things that Madara doesn’t need to think about just now. The demon held priority over things he couldn’t do anything about. Still, he couldn’t help but think that this would be easier with Tobirama here. 

Abruptly, Miroku finished what he was doing, and there was a cacophony of angry shrieking from within the house. Everyone present froze, including the monk. Including the drunk busybody who had just shown up. Madara hadn’t seen Junka in a long time, which was funny, now that he thought about it. After all, her house was right across from his… Then again, that might be because he’s been avoiding her. She didn’t say anything, just swayed in place next to him, squinting at the door of his house as though it would tell her something. 

Between her and Hashirama, the stench of booze was overpowering. It made his eyes water, which was harder to ignore than the tickle of Gouawae’s constant movement. Finally, Junka spoke, thoughtful and singsong. “Are we going to burn down your house?” 

Hashirama’s slow slide halted, and he leaned around Madara, with a consternated expression. “Who are you?” 

“Hi, Madara’s clinging friend,” Junka replied, smiling hazily. She immediately returned her attention to Madara. “So are we burning it?” 

“I should hope not,” he grouched, pulling Killer Jade in closer. The poor bunny was probably choking on the fumes. “I paid good money for not just the house, but the contents of that house.” Not to mention his collection of old... art, and his zithers. Madara had a good collection of both odd and traditional instruments going, and he would hate to have to start over. There were parts of his collection that had been difficult to get a hold of. 

“Oh, right,” Junka said, eyes narrowing unevenly. “I forgot that you’re cheap. You wouldn’t even open a tab for me.” 

“I. I have better things to spend the money I have on than keeping you... _lubricated_!” And Madara suddenly found himself reminded of all the reasons he avoided her. Especially since the Founding. Who had the bright idea to install her in the house directly across from him, made it harder than he liked to do so. Given her tendency to rarely come outside if she wasn’t headed to or from a bar or mission, it wasn’t _that hard_ to avoid her, but it made exiting through the front door a hassle some days. 

“Ha!” she said, then frowned. “The only kind of lubrication I need... is the drinking kind.” 

Madara palmed his face with the hand that wasn’t occupied with Killer Jade. “Go back to bed, Junka. Either that, or bring enough of whatever you’ve been drinking out to lubricate the rest of us. Because we need it.” 

Hashirama made a complaining noise when she turned to traipse off, back toward her house. With any luck, she wouldn’t be back soon. “Who is she?” 

“The unfortunate child of a bottle of shōchū and a fireball, and she loves her parents very much. Now let go of me.” 

Freedom attained, and feeling far closer to normal than he had in days, he ditched Hashirama (crying on the ground after getting an elbow in his face) to corner the monk. Miroku looked more than a little harassed. It was visible in the corners of his eyes, and the way he stood. 

“What kind of demon is it?” the monk asked him, when he approached. 

Madara paused. He had absolutely no idea. “I only knew it was a demon, and that I wasn’t hallucinating when Gouawae reacted to it.” 

“Gouawae?” 

Madara waited a beat, but the pipe fox didn’t do its usual thing and pop out of his collar upon hearing its name. Instead, it kept doing whatever it was that was _tickling_ Madara’s neck. “Pipe fox.” 

Miroku looked him up and down, one eyebrow climbing higher and higher. “You don’t seem like kuda-tsukai.” The tone was surprisingly judgmental, coming from a grifter. 

“Kitsune-tsukai,” Madara corrected, mouth twisting. Civilians had an odd idea of such things. Perhaps it was because of how foxes - because single foxes, or occasionally skulks occasionally end up contracted to families - were often used. Either way, admitting to summoning foxes was akin to social suicide where civilians were concerned. Shinobi, thankfully, were more practical about the usefulness of such things. 

That didn’t seem to make the monk any more comfortable, but he shook it off. “Which came first, the demon or the fox?” 

“The demon,” Madara replied, rolling his eyes. Others were moving in closer, but he kept his focus on Miroku. “I told you, the pipe fox confirmed it was a demon. I already knew it was there.” 

Miroku sighed. “Honestly, I’ll take any help I can get at this point, so..." He didn’t look happy about it, though. “What else does the pipe fox say?” 

Madara opened his mouth to reply, but that’s when Gouawae finally decided to pop out of his collar, announcing, “Gouawae is ready!” 

He could only look down on it - from the really awkward angle he had - in bafflement. “What?” 

“For Madara-sama to summon the tenko! Gouawae has been grooming all this time, and is now perfect to be seen by such illustrious foxes!” It perched precariously on the edge of Madara’s collar, vibrating in excitement. “The tenko might even see how perfectly groomed Gouawae is and ask Gouawae to join the temple on Mount Inari!” Gouawae gasped. “Oh! The first kanko to serve as the tenko! OH oh oh!!! But! But Gouawae doesn't want to leave Madara-sama! Oh, what to do, what to do..!” As abruptly as it popped out of his collar, it slinked back inside. 

That took far longer to parse than it should have, and once Madara did, he was stuck on the beginning. And the tenko. Which, “Oh, hells no!” 

A hand tugged at his sleeve and he automatically shielded Killer Jade before turning to see Kukaku’s irritated face. “Tenko, Madara?” 

His lip was out in a dramatic pout before he could stop it. “You can’t make me.” Madara had never actually summoned the tenko, but he _remembered_ what they were like. It wasn’t something he was ever going to forget. No matter how hard he tried. 

“You can summon _tenko_ , Madara?” 

“I don’t want to,” he replied, still pouting. Because no. He did not need to deal with _them_ on top of everything else that’s happened this week. Month. Year... His fucking life. Ugh. 

Kukaku dragged him down by the front of his robe until he was eye level with her. “You have a demon in your house. And you can summon tenko. Why haven’t you already summoned them?” 

“Have you ever met a tenko?” Madara tried to think of how to explain it, and came upon something that just might work. “Imagine. Your brother. Both of them. Their worst and most annoying traits combined into one being. Now imagine. There’s a mountain. Covered in them. You’re the only sane man, and _you’re their toy_. This is why I don’t summon the tenko.” 

Somewhere, in the distance, he heard Hashirama say, “Hey!” right as Kukaku sourly thanked him. “Thank you for describing my worst nightmare.” 

“Hey!” Hashirama complained again, closer. 

Madara rolled his eyes, and continued, “Even worse, if you give _one_ of them, _one_ invitation, they will _all_ never leave you alone, ever again. Just like Hashirama.” 

“Hey!” This time, the complaint came from between Madara and Miroku, but Madara still didn’t bother to look. 

“You never appreciated a private piss as much as I did when I got away from the fuckers. They do worse than stand behind you. They lean around and watch. And comment. Like Hashirama.” 

They all paused to look at Hashirama, and the man shrugged. “No, that’s fair.” 

Madara sighed. “And that’s why I won’t summon them.” 

“Eh?” Hashirama squinted at him. “Summon what? You have actual summons, besides the Kyuubi?” 

Madara plucked Gouawae out of his collar and, holding it between thumb and forefinger, waved the fox’s noodly body in Hashirama’s direction. “What do you think this is, idiot? I thought we went over this already?!” 

Hashirama and the pipe fox had a short stare down - won by Hashirama, because Gouawae wasn’t interested. “I figured you found it in your food one day and decided to keep it.” And Madara could concede that as an understandable assumption (although if he were paying better attention, he would see the teasing glint in Hashirama’s eyes), he was certain that he had already told Hashirama that Gouawae was a summon. “I mean, I’ve found it in _my_ food. It ate my breakfast.” As though he intentionally conjured the sound, his stomach gave a sad little rumble. 

“That was days ago, idiot,” Madara scoffed, hunching his shoulders. He didn’t need to be reminded that he was still recovering from a pretty bad meltdown. In all honesty, he would have prefered to have an explosive one, over what he actually did. 

“Summon them,” Kukaku demanded, before Hashirama could continue complaining, tugging on his robe again. 

He hunched his shoulders, trying to lean away from her. “I don’t want to!” 

“Madara, stop being a damned child, and do it!” 

Kukaku is really difficult to tell no, Madara realized. She’s treating him like Kagami, except, no. Kagami was too well behaved to earn this kind of ire most of the time. It only just occurred to him that an actual child is better behaved than him, and that... wasn’t a pleasant realization. 

“Fine,” he snarked, if only to make her let go of his collar. Again. In the same petulant tone, he asked, “Gouawae, what’s my lucky number?” 

Gouawae perked up. Gouawae... posed. “Madara-sama’s lucky number is _seven_!” 

That was _a lot_. Far more than he wanted to summon. But he asked for a reason, and he wasn’t one to shun advice he asked for. He put Gouawae back in his collar, put Killer Jade into her purse, where she could be passively comforting instead of in his hands, which he needed for this. 

He also needed his gloves off, or at least one of them, so he tugged it off with his mouth, leather squeaking against his teeth. He had the tattoo of a major contract on the opposite wrist, and all it took was a touch of blood and chakra, and seven beings of various sizes poofed into existence. The closest one stood on its hind legs like a man, but wasn’t much taller than Madara’s waist. His muzzle was peppered grey with age, and his eyes were golden brown and _wise_ , but even as the elder fox opened his mouth, Madara knew he was going to regret the summoning. 

“Have you heard of our Lady and Provider, Inari-sa..!” The words were cut of by the smack of a leather glove in the fox’s face. 

“I don’t need to hear this shit again!” Madara found himself shrieking, just like he was fourteen years old again. “I actually fucking called you for a reason!” 

“Madara-sama,” said another of the foxes. Her voice was smooth and, for the lack of a better word, _matronly_. She was also far, far larger than the elder, and although she doesn’t stand as he does, she stands nearly as high as his shoulder. Her eyes are both softer and more golden than the elder’s, and more serious as well. “It _is_ you! Why haven’t you summoned us?” 

He nearly flinched back when her nose was suddenly in _his face_. “I could have sworn that one of you told me not to abuse the contract,” he said, trying and failing to remember all of their names. _Her_ name is Jin, he thinks, and the elder is Gi. But beyond that..? Though there’s something about realizing that that tickles his memory, given that he summoned seven. It seemed significant, like part of a well loved pattern. 

Behind her, the smallest of the lot bounced around sticking its face into everything close by, including under Kukaku’s skirt. It ended up getting kicked for doing so, though that did little to deter its excited exploration. “Abuse, no,” said Jin, snuffling at him. “But you haven’t called us _at all_. Of course we would be concerned.” 

“Madara-sama’s been quite busy,” the elder murmured, holding Madara’s glove in one gnarled paw. His nose was twitching as he scented it. 

“Smells of many things,” Jin agreed. Behind her, Kukaku got sidetracked from coming closer by a fox with what appeared to be brochures of some sort, and Madara was distracted for a moment trying to figure out what the smallest fox seemed to be trying to sell her. “Madara-sama smells like _crazy_. Like darkness and ancient trees and rabbit and fox...” 

One of the others crowded in close, while another distracted Hashirama. They were obviously isolating him from the other humans. “Why would Madara-sama already smell like fox?” 

“Because Gouawae,” Gouawae informed them, popping up from Madara’s collar again. 

Jin reared back, offended. “A kanko? Madara-sama, have you no taste?!” She sniffed at Gouawae. “You would call a kanko, but not one of us?” 

Madara scowled, trying to back away from her. “All I wanted was company, and not the kind that tenko would provide.” Honestly, as it was, he would probably never be able to get rid of them, and they would be finding curious tenko sniffing around his things for years to come. Heavenly foxes, indeed. They caused as much trouble as their so-called “evil” counterparts. Not that he could say he’s ever _met_ a nogitsune - no matter that Gouawae regularly called Tobirama “Yako-sama”. But they are supposed to be wild and untameable, which doesn’t actually mean evil. 

An odd expression crossed Jin’s face - and since she was a fox, he couldn’t tell what it meant - and she leaned in, snuffling more vigorously. “Madara-sama’s been fornicating!” she announced, and the tenko temporarily fell to chaos. 

Madara was deeply offended by... well, everything the tenko were saying, up to and including something about assuming he wouldn’t be old enough to fornicate yet. They kept using that word, too. Fornicate. Like using a fancier word made it less crass that they were announcing to all and sundry that he had a sex life. 

It was a good thing that his and Tobirama’s relationship wasn’t secret. 

Then one of them handed him a brochure, and he spent several minutes staring at the title in shocked mortification.  Sex Rituals for Fun and Profit. Next thing he knew, he was chasing the damned creatures, trying to hit them with it, while they laughed and ran in circles. Somehow never once running into each other. 

Once he calmed down - once everything calmed down, really - and he was certain no one was looking, he slipped the brochure into a pocket. Madara wasn’t quite willing to discard something that might prove to be a useful resource. But damn if he was going to let them know he was curious. 

Then he had to explain why he called them, and that’s when the monk butted in and started talking. Miroku had a few brochures tucked into his robes as well, but they didn’t look like the one Madara had been given. Either way, the tenko seemed to like him well enough, and Madara could relax a little, now that they didn’t have most of their attention on him. 

By the time they were actually working on figuring out what, exactly, the shadow demon was, Madara had found a vantage point from which to both watch and sulk. If he didn’t know better, he would think Gouawae was sulking as well. It made tiny grumbling noises, before eventually settling down into complete stillness. 

The tenko circled his house, sniffing at the outside, before gathering around up front. The smallest, and another who stands on her hind legs like the elder, take to licking at something mid-air. Something that Madara couldn’t see, but makes a strange buzzing noise as they lick. “This is a good barrier,” said the one who stood on her hind legs. “I can almost taste the demon through it!” 

“Smells like _bad spirit_!” the smaller one announced with enthusiasm. “Really bad spirit. I can’t wait to face it!” 

“Patience, Isamu,” another fox said. She wasn’t as big as Jin, but was still far larger than Gi. Standing on all fours, she still stood as tall as the elder did. Like the others, her fur was a luxurious mix of golden and white. “We still don’t know what we’re dealing with.” 

That was when Gi added his tongue to the... testing. 

* * *

Madara had no idea how this happened. One moment they were letting down the barrier that Miroku put up, the next? Complete and utter chaos. He would have gone to help, instead of gawking like an idiot, but the tenko and the monk were obviously better suited to handling a demon that appeared to be made up of black _slime_ than he was. 

That and it was currently attached to Junka, who was running in circles screaming. He... wasn’t sure what kind of screaming that was. She didn’t seem to be in pain, but... screaming, and being chased by several determined foxes who seemed to be dumping blessed sake on her. 

(On some level, he was certain that she was enjoying that.) 

Although the demon was hindering her, the sake - both the sake being dumped on it, and whatever Junka was drinking before she came back - seemed to be hindering _it_. She stopped abruptly, tripping up the smaller foxes, and announced, “I’m gonna punch myself in the face! On purpose this time! Don’t. Don’t try and stop me?!” 

At this point, Madara just wanted this to be over. At least he wasn’t alone in watching the spectacle. Kukaku again sat at his side, bemused as her eyes followed the drunken woman and the foxes. And the monk, whose appearance was growing more and more ragged as the... unconventional exorcism went on. 

At least Madara hoped that that was what was occurring. 

“Don’t hold back!” Junka shouted, far too gleeful, considering what was happening. “I don’t feel pain!” 

Unable to continue watching, Madara dropped his face into one hand, seeking Killer Jade with the other. It eased something in his chest when he felt her nuzzle his palm. 

“I don’t think I can keep watching this,” Kukaku murmured. “But I can’t look away, either. What is wrong with her?” 

“She’s pickled,” Madara replied, digging his fingers into his temple. _They can take care of this. They_ can _take care of this. I don’t need to interfere. I really don’t need to interfere._ Fuck, but he wanted to interfere, even knowing he would probably be useless. 

“And now for my next trick!” Junka cackled, stealing a jug from one of the tenko and immediately taking a swig from it. “I’m go _ing_ toooo _self-immolate_!” 

“Of course she is,” Madara groaned, right as his one time friend burst into flames - much to the demon’s distress, from the sound of its screeching. 

“Should we be worried?” Kukaku asked, struggling to be heard over the various panicked noises around them. 

“Hasn’t killed her yet.” Madara shrugged. Junka was well known for doing... well. Not exactly this, but she lit herself on fire fairly regularly, and he doubted being soaked in alcohol would actually dim her chances of surviving it. It certainly hadn’t any of the previous times. “At this point, I think her sweat is flammable.” 

He can still hear the demon’s screams - promises and vitriol in equal measure - for several long minutes until the flames die, and he’s not the only one wincing at the sound of it. Junka doesn’t cry out even once. 

In the end, once the fire peters out, she’s left gasping and naked and demon free in the middle of the street, swaying hazily, and squinting around like she wasn’t quite sure what was going on. “Is the party over?” she asked querulously, once her eyes landed on Madara. 

“Yes. Yes it is.” Madara didn’t so much as twitch when Kukaku muffled a laugh over his sour tone. But seriously. He’s _done_. “Unless there’s more of those things where that one came from, the party’s over. And you need to get dressed.” 

“I thought I felt a draft...” Junka trailed off muttering as she looked down at herself. “Well then...” 

He thumped his face against his palm one more time before standing up and shedding his outer robe. Pants and an undershirt was more than enough for him, but he wasn’t about to stand around and leave one of his clansmen - especially not a woman, not even one as soddenly shameless as Junka - _naked_. 

But when he tried to put it on her, she dodged. “Heeey, Madara! I’m the _fun_ in _fun_ doshi.” Then she reached between her legs and pulled out a charred, barely holding together strip of pink cloth. “Or at least I was. Those were my party fundoshi Madara!” 

Why the fuck was this his life? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wonder: I wasn’t originally going to have Junka have any part in Zetsu’s death (I didn’t even plan on her showing up yet, but then she wanted to know what was happening in front of Madara’s house...). It gives a certain ignomy to his death, to be killed by a newly introduced background character. x’D
> 
> Terms!
> 
> Kuda-tsukai: lit. “Kuda-user.” One of several ways to describe someone who summons pipe foxes. Traditionally, people who do so, or who are believed to do so, are not treated very well.
> 
> Kitsune-tsukai: “Fox-user.” It’s a step up from only summoning pipe foxes, I think.
> 
> Names! (Would like to point out that there _is_ a theme with the tenko’s names, and if you can recognize it, kudos! If not, it will come up, sooner or later.
> 
> Junka: “Rich (as good as wine), summer.” The kanji that make up her name are, “醇夏”. (An expy from Kingdoms of Amalur. Good luck finding the character, tho.)
> 
> Gi: “義,” often translated as “Rectitude” or “Righteousness,” but I’ve also seen it translated as “Morality.”
> 
> Jin: “仁,” meaning “Benevolence.”
> 
> Isamu: “勇,” meaning “Courage.” This is the small, enthusiastic one.
> 
> (Only three of the foxes are named in the chapter, but all seven have names.)


	5. In Which a Mission is Finished, and Tobirama has an Important Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama’s business with Yoshihiko concludes. He waits until he’s home to actually think about what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn’t mean to do it quite this way (I meant to show more of Tobirama’s time there, but couldn’t decide how to write that), but Yoshihiko decided to be weird in a way I liked. Would you believe he’s still a developing character? Then again, aren’t they all? ( ´ヮ` )♡ Unfortunately, he’s one of those characters who is very much “less ismore.”
> 
> And this is the final chapter of this one. Expect me to be back... eventually. I don’t even have a start on the next one, but we’ll see how long it takes for me to get a few chapters advanced...

Tobirama couldn’t make himself leave. He couldn’t make it quick, either, like his training demanded. So he talked. Or rather, they talked, though Yoshihiko’s voice was nothing but a thin and reedy whisper. His dark eyes were admiring, and just as arresting as they were in the beginning. 

Tobirama refused look away from what he has wrought. 

“I should have known, right away,” Yoshihiko said, reaching up with a hand that shook with the effort it took, to stroke Tobirama’s cheek. “But I thought I had you.” Tobirama could hear the admiration in his voice, too, feel it in his chakra. There was just a touch of awe to it, something that Tobirama was always baffled by, when it came from an enemy. 

Why would someone look at the one who killed them with that kind of respect? “You did have me. You still do.” If Yoshihiko didn’t have him, this would be over already, and Tobirama wouldn’t be laying here, watching the color fade from Yoshihiko’s skin. It hurt to watch, but he wouldn’t leave the man alone in his final minutes. 

“Yet I still see death in your eyes.” His voice was whispier than it was a moment ago, though he smiled at Tobirama. “I don’t fear death. If anything... Though I don’t agree with your way of life, I feel I should commend you for succeeding. I have questions I would like you to answer, before the end...” 

It could be Yoshihiko’s unnatural charm, but Tobirama _still_ liked him. “I’m listening.” 

For a moment, it seemed as though the questions weren’t going to come. Yoshihiko’s breathing grew labored, and his eyes fluttered with the effort to keep them open. “Could you. truly. restore someone to their youth?” 

“Yes.” 

Thankfully, Yoshihiko didn’t ask how, just smiled a little wider, though even that was becoming visibly difficult. “Only one more, I think. What did I do to earn your regard?” 

Tobirama blinked. That was not a question he had been expecting. “Madara. He doesn’t recall much of his time here, and after learning of you... If you were to turn your attention to the throne, or to certain individuals..." 

“I see... He still doesn’t remember...” Yoshihiko sighed when Tobirama’s hand - wet and tacky - closed over his, where it still rested against Tobirama’s cheek. “And. you would. like to know what he’s. missing..." Yoshihiko paused, for a moment just breathing, faint and open mouthed. “He made a friend. who he killed to. protect me. I. couldn’t bear. his grief. his guilt. Couldn’t watch. him suffer.” 

That. The reasoning makes sense, but Yoshihiko left out the most important part. “ _How_ , though? How did you alter his memory?” 

“I only. told him to. forget.” Those were his last words. Yoshihiko’s eyes fell closed, and the hand in Tobirama’s went slack. After that... It wasn’t much longer before what life remained fled his body. 

* * *

Nothing irreplaceable had been taken on his mission, not even his armor, so Tobirama was free to head straight home. But that’s not what he did. He had two stops to make on the way. The first of said stops was to get close enough to Konoha to be able to tell if his brother was in his office, and alone. The second was Hashirama’s office. 

It was time to report in. 

He managed to keep his expression professionally blank throughout his report. He slipped a couple of times, not keeping his tone sharp enough, dismissing Hashirama’s concern over the blood staining his hands and sleeves and... there’s probably some on his cheek, too, not to mention the rest of his clothes. 

Tobirama might mutter a few things that Hashirama couldn’t understand, but he’s as concise as he can be, when it feels like... He can’t describe the feeling, but it’s _terrible_ , and _he’s_ terrible, and he’s never been one for self-reflection, but at the moment, he could easily _loathe_ himself. 

“I need to go home and bathe, anija. I have told you what I can, reported on the situation as concisely as possible, and I have given you my opinion on what else must be done. If it is not enough, send someone to me tomorrow, after I have had a chance to rest.” _Please, anija,_ he thought, just shy of desperate. _I need space, if only until tomorrow._

With a defeated sigh, Hashirama dismissed him. 

* * *

Home felt _different_. He used the Hiraishin to go directly to the furo, but he could feel that his home wasn’t just his any longer. There were hints of Madara all over, but Madara himself was still at the administrative building. 

He couldn’t touch any of Madara’s things while like this, but he was nearly overwhelmed with the urge to go and find Madara’s pillow and bury his face in it. It would be a reminder of why he did this, why he feels like this now. Why it had to be worth it. 

Instead, he forced himself to strip efficiently and start filling the tub. First came cleansing, and Tobirama had plenty of soap and soft washcloths for the purpose. 

He was still mechanically scrubbing his arms when his hands were caught and the cloth was taken from him. The cloth was dark pink, and Madara’s bare hands stood out starkly against it. 

Tobirama’s hands were shaking. 

When Madara picked up a fresh cloth and wetted it, Tobirama just... let him have his way, and was subjected to a very careful, surprisingly gentle, cleansing. First his face was wiped clean, and Tobirama had forgotten, somehow, that there was blood there, too. Madara took greater care with his hands and arms, and Tobirama almost said something when he realized why. 

The only reason there was still blood on his hands was because he scrubbed them too hard, too long. It was easier to see, now that Madara was taking care of it, that the color was more rawness than actual blood. “When we get done, we’ll have to put ointment on this,” Madara told him, and Tobirama bit his lip, confused at the feeling in his chest at hearing Madara’s voice again, especially in such soft tones. 

Madara also briskly washed himself, piling his hair on top of his head in that ridiculously messy bun that he seemed to favor when he didn’t have the patience to wash his hair too. Then he picked Tobirama up, not giving him a chance to protest, and carried him into the tub. Where he sank down, seating Tobirama in his lap. 

This was... 

Tobirama didn’t know what this was. Comfort, perhaps. Comfort not offered many years too late to truly help, like the night before he left. Madara was warm, and holding him, and seemed content just to press his face into the curve of Tobirama’s throat. 

He didn’t know why the first thing to come out of his mouth was, “I knew it wasn’t real.” 

Madara _flinched_. 

That. That wasn’t the reaction he wanted at all. “I went in knowing it wouldn’t be real. But. But _I felt it anyway_.” He had loved Butsuma, too. By now, that feeling was mostly bitterness, but it had been true, once. “What kind of person can kill someone they love?” 

He lost his next breath when Madara crushed him in a hug. Madara didn’t answer right away, seeming to prefer to get his feelings out physically - though Tobirama can catch something like grief and horror echoing in his chakra. “Someone who chooses to protect another.” 

A kinder answer than Tobirama deserves. “I... Tell me what I missed while I was gone?” 

Madara was more than willing to fill him in, though the more Tobirama heard, the harder it was to believe. He could almost dismiss Izuna’s ghost as some kind of hallucination - which Madara was inclined to do, citing that there _had_ been a demon in his house - but something about the way he was described sounded too... real. 

“Did you ever find out what kind of demon it was?” 

“Tatarigami. That’s what Gi says, and I’m inclined to believe him. ” Tatarigami. A curse spirit, right in the home of one of their clan heads. That is a special sort of horrifying. 

The tenko sound intriguing, and Madara hadn’t yet tried to send them off. Tobirama hoped that meant he’ll get a chance to meet them. _Junka_ sounded _entertaining_ , and the moment he felt like socializing, he wanted to meet her, as well. 

Madara almost got a laugh out of him when he described Hashirama licking the barrier like the foxes had done, and yelping “Ah! That stings!” 

Slowly, Madara’s words - his voice, deep and rumbling as ever - helped him relax. His mind was still occupied by both what happened while he was gone, and... things that he probably shouldn’t focus on. Such as dwelling on the fact that he was a horrible person, even by shinobi standards. 

Dwelling on that other feeling, so very similar to what Yoshihiko made him feel, though weaker and faltering. He couldn’t even tell if it was real. Not right now. Not with his mind so scrambled. 

It was strange. He had kissed Yoshihiko - or had it been the other way around? - but... It was only once they were in private that he... Did he leave the blade behind? If so, he never wanted to see it again. 

Tobirama shivered, in spite of Madara’s warmth, and the heat of the water around him. He wanted to... Something. He couldn’t think, not with the memory of another mouth on his, and the knife in his hand, and... That shocked gasp against his lips. 

Fuck. It’s one thing to do that when he doesn’t care, but Yoshihiko..! The kiss was just a distraction. It was just a distraction, but it was... 

He couldn’t breathe. 

Tobirama found himself clawing at Madara’s shoulder, while Madara rubbed his back until his breath returned with an awful keening sound that Tobirama had never heard himself make. His eyes burned, and his throat ached in an unfamiliar way, but it wasn’t until he heard himself sob that he realized _why_. 

He was _crying_. Not only that, apparently he didn’t even have the grace to wait until he was alone. And Madara just continued to rub between his shoulders, like it was the thing to do. Even when Tobirama started cursing at him between breaths. 

This wasn’t him. He hadn’t cried like this - or in front of someone, not once - since he was ten. Why would he do this _now_ , after so many years? And why was Madara being so damned accommodating? 

He turned just enough so that he could muffle a frustrated scream against Madara’s shoulder. He didn’t know _why_ he was crying. All he knew was that he hurt, and it felt like grief, and he had _no reason_ to feel that way right now. 

Madara didn’t say a word, just waited him out while continuing the soothing, circular motion of his palm. It made him feel like a child. “I hate this. I don’t even know why I’m so upset!” 

“Because you’re out of his range of influence,” Madara replied, voice suspiciously wet. 

“He’s _dead_!” Tobirama couldn’t tell if that was emphasis or a lament. Wanting to see Madara’s face, he leaned back. “Madara..!” 

Madara’s face would have been ruddy anyway, from the heat of the water, but tear tracks gleamed on his cheeks. Although Madara telegraphed his movements, and took Tobirama’s face between his hands, when Madara kissed him, it shocked him silent. 

Even his mind quieted. 

It was a slow and gentle kiss, which could only distract Tobirama for so long. Even with the way Madara’s thumbs stroked his cheeks, following the lines of chakra stains. Doubt of his own feelings was the first thing to rush back, accompanied by a pained sound. 

He needed to stop thinking. That brief moment of internal silence wasn’t enough. 

Madara was really good at making that happen, and he’s right _here_. When Tobirama pressed in, taking control and turning the kiss into something forceful, Madara’s breath hitched. It was either surprise or interest, or both, but Tobirama didn’t want to wait to find out. 

Strangely, Madara relaxed under him, allowing the rough intrusion, hands sliding into more comfortable positions. One hand gently cupped the back of his neck, while the other returned to rubbing slow circles, this time at the small of his back. It would be perfect, at almost any other time. 

Right now, it’s frustrating. “Madara..." Tobirama groaned when Madara tilted his head, pressing a kiss to his jaw. There was promise in that, though it was still far too gentle. There was more promise in the noise Madara made when Tobirama’s fingers clenched in his hair, close to the scalp. There was promise in the way his hand stilled, fingers unconsciously digging into Tobirama’s back. 

He tugged harder, the twist of his fingers just shy of cruel. Enjoyed the choked sound caught in Madara’s throat, and the way Madara shifted under him, even as his head was pulled back. 

Maybe he should just show Madara what he wants. If nothing else, that would be a good distraction from _thinking_. The sounds he makes when Tobirama nips at his throat are an excellent start, and Tobirama wanted _more_. 

“Probably not a good idea right now,” Madara murmured, voice thready in a familiar way. But he whined, rolling his hips, when Tobirama tugged harder on his hair. He jerked beneath him, fingers tightening on his nape when Tobirama bit down harder, just above his collar bone. “Ngh... Not protesting. Just. Tobirama..." 

He had already suspected that Madara was a bit of a masochist. He reacted so well to the pull of his hair, to Tobirama’s teeth on his throat. The spanking incident stood out starkly in Tobirama’s mind, reminding him of how _pliant_ Madara had become once he had his way with him. 

That thought warmed him far more than the water had managed. 

“If I were to suck you off, right now, could you handle getting fucked into the mattress right after?” 

The answer was a strangled whine, and Madara dragging Tobirama down his chest. “Fu- _uck_! Please, yes and thank you..!” He paused halfway there, groaning at the retaliatory bite. “I feel like it needs to be said,” the words came out in a rush, hitching halfway through, “but you do realize we’re still going to have to deal with this later?” 

Tobirama bit harder, and Madara made another lovely sound, more encouragement than pain. “Don’t care right now.” That’s a problem for tomorrow’s him, if Tobirama does this right. 

“H-had to say it..." Madara trailed off, as Tobirama followed the path Madara had started him on, giving him one last bite before water closed over his head. Madara said something else, but the sound was muffled by the water. 

He didn’t bother with finesse, just wrapped his mouth around the tip and started sucking, pressing his tongue hard against Madara’s glans. Madara’s hands dug into his hair, pulling him down and in, almost as hard as Tobirama wants. 

Madara didn’t last long at all, coming hard and messy in Tobirama’s mouth, while Tobirama tried to swallow it all down. He pushed up out of the water without waiting for Madara’s grip to slacken, and panting, pressed biting kisses to Madara’s throat while Madara mumbled dazedly under his breath. 

“Bed,” he demanded. This was only the beginning, and one of them wasn’t going to be able to think at all before he was finished. 

* * *

Much later, long after he made a gorgeous mess out of his lover, Tobirama lay against him, petting Madara’s sides and breathing in the heavy scent of sex. Madara’s back was warm and damp beneath his cheek. He hadn’t managed to drive himself insensate, but Madara... It’s fascinating, being able to drive someone like Madara completely beyond words, to where all he could do was cry out for more, whimpering in pained pleasure. 

Instead, afterwards, Tobirama found a strange sense of languid clarity. And as long as he remembered this one thing, he wouldn’t mistake his honest feelings for a lie ever again. Or worse, mistake manipulations like Yoshihiko’s for the truth. 

Real emotions are _messy_. And the feelings he has for Madara? They’re a sweet and terrible jumble, aggravating as much as they make his heart race. 

It was almost terrifying, when he realizes that it means he loves him. 

(He’s never been good at love.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms! (Only had the one!? What?)
> 
> Tatarigami: Literally “curse god/spirit” - “Tatarigami are powerful spirits which bring death and destruction, fire and famine, plague, war, and all forms of calamity. They are some of the most powerful evil spirits that haunt Japan, and have done much to shape the culture and politics over the country’s long history...In order to appease their vengeful spirits, shrines honoring them have been built across Japan. Through proper appeasement, their curses can be lifted, or at least abated...The duty of pacifying these curse spirits fell to the onmyōji, and popular belief in this superstition helped onmyōdō rise in power.” - from yokai.com. Interestingly, multiple types of demon, including onryō, can count as tatarigami.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know if there's anything I missed in my info segment. x3


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